


I'll Burn In This All Day

by echomoon



Series: pennywaughtersports [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentions of public sex, Multi, Set in Fillory, Threesome - M/M/M, Watersports, mentions of Alice/Margo, no Fen/Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echomoon/pseuds/echomoon
Summary: Quentin and Eliot play with watersports while Penny watches, tied up. A threesome happens. Emotions are had.





	I'll Burn In This All Day

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to One Direction's 'No Control' (from which the title is taken) for some of the sex vibe to be honest. I accidentally joined that fandom and now all of their music is inspiring me.  
> This was supposed to be only sex and then I forgot about it for like 5 months and when I came back emotions happened.  
> Dedicated to all-hale-eliot, for sending me such nice messages about the other fics in this series that I got inspired to write another. I love all of you guys for reading and for not kinkshaming me lol.

Quentin drains the last mouthful of his goblet and sets it down. The noise it makes when it hits the table is louder than intended, but while Eliot raises an eyebrow at him from across the table, not even pausing in his speech, the rest of the diplomats pretend not to notice. Perks of being royalty, he guesses, include people ignoring your minor fuckups. 

 

He’s bored out of his mind at this meeting, isn’t even all that sure what it’s supposed to be about. Something to do with diplomacy, obviously. There are representatives from all over Fillory-the-country, but none from Fillory-the-planet, so something local, probably. He’s only here because Margo and Alice are off on some other diplomatic mission across the country, which Quentin is sure is actually just an excuse for them to fuck in every part of the country. At least while they’re gone Quentin won’t walk in on them in the throne room - not even one of the side rooms, but on the actual thrones.

 

Quentin fills his goblet back up - the pitchers are filled with another of the Fillorian’s failed attempt at recreating champagne. This round resulted in a sort of fizzy fruit juice, which Quentin thinks is starting to grow on him.

 

Eliot claimed to want Quentin there in place of the travelling monarchs, even though Quentin only participated in the administration parts of ruling if all four monarchs were required, but he knew the real reason he was there. Well, reasons. The first was that Eliot wanted company during the meeting. The second was that, right before the meeting started, when they were in Eliot’s room tying Penny up, El had ordered him to drink at least five goblets during the meeting. The fact that they would be stuck in the room until the meeting was over meant El could keep an eye on him, not that Quentin would ever disobey the order anyway. Whatever this meeting was about, it wasn’t for Q to know or care about. Eliot just wanted to watch him squirm.

 

Not even sort of listening to the speaking guest, Quentin lets his mind wander. He thinks about the way Eliot looks at him when he finishes a glass, warm and approving. He thinks about how Penny is tied up with some of El’s silk scarves,  loose enough not to hurt but tight enough to not allow movement. He could escape whenever he wanted, but Q knows when they return he’ll be exactly where they left him, especially after the show they put on to rile him up before they left. He thinks about how pretty the scarves looked against Penny’s skin, bright and shiny and colorful. He thinks about how the liquid is sinking into his bladder, three glasses in, starting to fill it. He wonders what Eliot has in store for after the meeting. He finishes his glass.

 

A hand lands on the back of his neck, firm. Its Eliot, he can tell just from the touch, but he looks up to check anyway.

 

“Is the meeting over?” Quentin asks, worried.

 

“Just a quick recess for final decisions. Want to go ‘convene’ over behind that pillar?” Eliot jokes, one hand playing with Quentin’s hair and the other pulling the empty goblet towards them.

 

“I’m almost done.” Quentin says, worrying his lip.

 

“I know. You’re doing good, Q, very good. You feeling it yet?” Eliot’s smile is such a wonderful sight, and the praise makes Quentin a little swoony. 

 

“A little.” Q replies, running his fingers over his lower stomach. It had been a while since they played this game, long enough that Quentin was worried his bladder might have shrunk a bit. He could feel himself getting heavier with every sip.

 

Eliot pats his head and turns to go back to his seat. Quentin belatedly notices that people have been returning to the table.

 

Now that he’s thinking about it, he realizes that he’s fuller than he thought. Not enough to ache, but this fifth glass might be pushing it. He tried to think about something else, but every thought is tinged with anticipation. He tried to focus on the meeting, but with lack of context what people are saying makes little sense, besides that everyone is agreeing on something. Inexplicably, he ends up with a song stuck in his head - the Hess Truck christmas jingle, which he actually hasn’t heard since he was a kid, over and over and over. At least it keeps his thoughts off his bladder, which at four and a quarter cups in is reaching full capacity. He keeps drinking.

 

And then the meeting is over and everyone is leaving and Quentin has to stand up for a respectful goodbye. A few seconds into that and there’s a jolt of pain, a feeling of ‘shit that fifth cup was definitely too much’. Thank the Rams that Eliot’s room is quite literally a chamber off the throne room. He forces a smile at the last stragglers.

 

Eliot smiles at him as he approaches, puts his hand on the small of Q’s back, leading him to the room. He sits in his usual chair, thronelike and situated a few feet away from the edge of the bed, no arms to make certain activities easier - like the one they’re about to do, apparently, since he beckons Q over once he’s situated.

 

Q straddles him at first, facing him. Eliot rewards him with a searing kiss, but pulls away just as it’s getting better. Quentin whines in response.

 

“Patience, sweet boy. You earned a treat, but so did Penny.” Eliot says, and makes Quentin turn around. Penny is watching them with hungry eyes. “Take off your shirt.”

 

Quentin does so quickly, then leans back against Eliot. He’s still straddling him, just backwards; his legs are spread wantonly. El starts stroking his body, starting at his chest and throat and working his way down. He stops when he reaches Q’s lower stomach, and then jabs at it, very violently reminding Quentin of his need to pee, made worse by the fact that a little spurts out and he has to force himself to stop, because Eliot hasn’t said it’s okay yet. He hunches over a little.

 

Eliot gently pushes him back up, locks his hands under Q’s chest. He and Penny start discussing the meeting, which Quentin tunes out in favor of trying not to struggle. It's really starting to hurt - Eliot strokes his stomach again a few minutes in and Q can’t help but cry loudly.

 

“Eliot, please!” Quentin whines as Eliot’s hands continue to stroke.

 

“Hm, I don't know. What do you think, P, should we let baby Q have his treat?”

 

“He has been good.” Penny says casually, as if his voice isn't thick with lust.

 

Eliot's hands wander lower, probe him light enough that he can feel it but not enough to provoke his bladder again. Q wants to cry, can feel his eyes tearing up, so he closes them. Penny must have signaled to Eliot, because Q feels his face being turned towards him, feels him kissing the top of his cheeks.

 

“Alright, baby. You did good, let go.” Eliot says, and cups Quentin’s dick, presses hard enough to make Quentin burst.

 

A few more quick spurts squirt out, but the pressure of holding it in for so long makes it hurt to let go. Quentin pushes through the pain, until it melts into bliss and a steady stream. He grinds against Eliot’s hand, squirming and whining as he pisses himself. It doesn't take him long to soak through his pants, then onto Eliots. He can hear the hiss of his stream, the splatter of it dripping onto the stone floor, in between his whines and Eliot’s praises, though they’re soon swallowed by groans as Eliot starts kissing his neck. Q feels like he's been pissing for ages, floating in the pleasure, but finally he manages to empty himself out. And he  _ feels _ empty, feels hollow now that the liquid is gone, but he still has the bliss of Eliot's hand on his growing cock, of his lips on his neck. He follows that friction, needy and wanting, lets himself be vocal, melts into the warmth of Eliot's body, until he bursts in another way. He’s panting heavily when he comes down from the high.

 

His pants are cold and sticky, filled with piss and cum, but he holds still in Eliot's lap until the man nudges him up with more praise and and order to remove them. He stands and strips quickly, lets Eliot wipe him down with a towel. He stays standing while Eliot moves towards the bed and sits on the edge, watches him stroke Penny’s chest and stomach, watches him stoop down over him, to whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

 

He finds himself moving without permission to Penny’s other side, reaches out to touch that beautifully slick skin that’s taunting him, but he’s stopped by Eliot grabbing his wrist. 

 

“That eager to help, Q?” Eliot says, eyebrow arched. Quentin nods. “Hmph. Fine, then. Since Penny was so patient for us, I want you to suck his dick.”

 

Quentin nods again, eagerly, but Eliot still won’t let go of his wrist.

 

“ _ But _ ,” Eliot snides, “but, since you couldn’t be patient, you aren’t allowed to use your hands.”

 

Quentin lets out a sharp whine - not letting him touch Penny when his warmth is calling out to him like a siren? When thoughts of it have been taunting him since they left the chamber?

 

Penny just laughs.

 

And all the same, taking in the sight of Penny’s length makes his mouth water. It will be a little harder without hands, considering the man’s size, but not impossible. Quentin lets Eliot tie his hands back with another colorful scarf, so he can’t cheat - because they all know without it Quentin won’t be able to help himself - and watches him untie Penny while he waits patiently on his knees on the floor at the end of the bed.

 

Penny crawls across the bed to him, settles on the edge. When Quentin looks up at him with shining eyes, Penny threads his hands through Quentin’s hair tight and pulls him into a messy kiss. 

 

But before they continue, Eliot jumps off the bed, saying, “Oh, wait! Better idea!”

 

Quentin rolls his head back in annoyance, breaking the kiss. Penny pulls him back in while they wait for Eliot to finish whatever he’s doing, which is very nice as a distraction.

 

“Quentin, stay where you are. Penny, on your hands and knees.” Eliot says, now divested of his kingly clothing and holding a jar of lube.

 

“Is that what we’re doing?” Penny asks with a raised eyebrow, but he makes no protest as he gets into position. 

 

In the time it takes for Eliot to prep Penny, Quentin starts to feel aroused again - thank Fillory’s weird drug air for a magically shorter refractory period - which is good for their fun but bad for him in that exact moment, since there’s nothing he can do about it. He just watches them hungrily, aching for free hands and to be allowed to touch. Eliot switches positions, so he’s sitting on the bed, and lets Penny sink onto him slowly. Quentin watches helplessly while they get into it, filling the room with slapping skin and groans and heat, feeling himself get more and more aroused, ache more and more to touch them and join the fray. 

 

And then finally, after what feels like decades, Eliot slows himself down, lets his thrusts become more shallow and gentle, and when Penny complains he says, “Time for Quentin to join.”

 

Q scrambles forward as fast as he can on his knees like this, almost falls into Penny’s lap with his eagerness. Eliot’s thrusts are so slow that the two are barely moving, just moving his hips with tiny micro-thrusts, which gives Quentin plenty of opportunity to start his ministrations. Penny moans, both with frustration and with pleasure; Quentin, in his eagerness, has sloppy technique, and he knows Eliot will probably tease him about it later, but every lick and suck has Penny making a noise and its making Quentin so happy that the cause is him. Eliot, whenever he decides the thrust harder, lets Quentin know by tugging his head up by the hair, which is such pain and pleasure Q thinks he might come from that alone, with the head start that first orgasm has given him.

 

Q loses himself in the routine, sucking and being tugged off and back again, his job made slightly easier from Eliot’s thrusts giving Penny’s dick a bit of momentum that’s otherwise lost from Quentin being tied up. He could do this all day, every day, just service his boys and not worry about running a country or dealing with classes at Brakebills. All he wants is the floating happiness of doing a good job, the warmth of the other’s skin on his, the knowledge of their fondness for him and his love for them.

 

And somewhere in there Penny bites off another groan, twists to kiss Eliot, both of their hands tangled up in Quentin’s hair, and one by one, almost together, the three are overtaken by the throes of orgasm. 

 

Penny and Eliot collapse back onto the bed together, falling over each other. Quentin just leans forward against their tangled legs, waits patiently for one of them to recover enough to untie him so they can all cuddle up together. And when that happens, Quentin is in the middle, because they know Quentin needs the grounding of their touch the most after all of that. He dozes mindlessly; the other two, who recover faster than him, talk quietly, their murmurs a reassuring white noise. When he wakes, they both smile at him. Eliot pulls him closer; Penny shifts so their cuddle is more of a tight sandwich.

 

“Hey babe.” Penny says. Eliot brushes the hair from his face, leans over him, his smile melting into a more serious expression.

 

“You think we’re only fond of you?” Eliot pouts, and Quentin jolts up, eyes wide, almost knocking heads with him.

 

“No, shh, it’s okay.” Penny says, their grip on Q tightening, keeping him from running away in embarrassment like he wants to.  “I’m sorry for sharing your private thoughts, Q, but this is important. Why do you think we’re only fond of you?”

 

He stares at Penny, then Eliot, mouth open and thoughts frozen. He tries to piece together words for them, still subspaced enough, and regularly conditioned enough, to not want to disappoint either of them. “I - uh, um, I’m.. me?”

 

“Yes, Q, we know that much.” Eliot drawls.

 

Quentin feels, distant but still compelling, his embarrassment turn into fury. He doesn’t want to talk about this right now, or well basically ever, has already shared enough of his stupid shitty issues and his stupid shitty brain that he feels like they should know this already but also shouldn’t know any of this and he’s feeling so many things, shame and anger and worry and its all overpowering him and it’s worse knowing that they’re both just sitting there, trying to coax his stupid brain into turning that mush into actual words like he actually  _ means _ something to them, and he knows like, objectively that they like him, or else they wouldn't have been doing all of this and they wouldn’t be holding him like this now, but its still so hard for him to understand why they stay and why they keep inviting him back and why they do anything involving him? When it’s  _ him _ ? Like, who looks at  _ Quentin Coldwater _ and thinks, oh yes, this is a person i want to spend time with and be with forever. No, he’s not stupid enough to think this will last forever, but it feels like it’s been forever enough for now and he wants to soak all of it up while he can, because this can’t be more than fondness and tolerance and sex because that's the most it's ever been for him, and - 

 

“Quentin. Q. Baby, calm down. Sh, stop, look at me.” Penny is saying to him, holding his head in both hands. “Look at me.”

 

Quentin looks.

 

Penny leans his forehead against Quentin’s - Eliot giggles as Q goes cross eyed trying to still look - and says, “Quentin fucking Coldwater. I love you. This is not fondness. This is not tolerance. This is love and a relationship and whatever the fuck else.”

 

He pulls back, and Eliot takes over, holding Quentin’s face in his hands. “Q. Baby. I love you. Penny here is kind of hit or miss for me, really,” and here Penny swats him, and they smile at each other, “But really, seriously, very much, we are in this for life. You are mine, Quentin, you and Penny both, and I’m possessive as hell. I am not letting you go, ever.”

 

Quentin tries to process this all. It takes a little while to get through his panic, but their confessions sink into him slowly.

 

“Oh,” he says, “I love both of you.”

 

“We know.” Penny says.

 

“And you want this to be forever?”

 

“Yes. And yes, Q, we know we’re going to have to reassure you about this a lot. It’s okay. I just wish Penny had told me about this sooner, I didn’t realize you were getting so upset about it all.”

 

“Not upset, just…”

 

“Yeah. It’s okay, babe. And seriously, Eliot, I told you as soon as I figured it out, it’s not my fault Quentin waited until now to go into his mind loop things about it.”

Quentin lays back down and just listens to his boys bicker, realizing nothing makes him happier than just this. This was enough. Love was enough. And being loved felt nice, even if he was still scared and a little sceptical about it.

 

“Q, oh my god, shut up.” Penny says, but he’s still smiling.

 

“I love you.” Quentin replies.

 

“Yeah, whatever.”

 

“I looooove youuuuu,” Quentin sings. “Loooooo-”

 

His mouth is covered by Eliot’s hand. So he licks it. Eliot just raises an eyebrow, as if to say ‘you really think that’s enough to stop me?’. Under his palm, Quentin grins and gets ready to pounce.

 

Eventually, the playful tussle would turn into another dogpile of a cuddle, with everyone murmuring sweet nothings into each others bodies.


End file.
